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Final Farewell

My last post was about my grandfather and the simple fact that I wasn't ready to live in a world where he didn't exist. Today, I've been living in that world for almost a month. Time has passed rather quickly since he said his final farewell.

My grandfather was a man to be admired. He lived through the Great Depression, served in World War II, witnessed the television revolution, and was a part of this great technology age.

In his late teens/early 20s, he was one of the thousands of young men drafted to serve his country in World War II. He was young and somewhat innocent, I suppose. He boarded a boat to the Philippines and served in the Red Arrow division of the US Army. This division served 654 consecutive days of combat, more than any other US army division. He saw many atrocities that most young men hope to never see. At the end of the war, he became a part of the Occupation Forces in Japan. He received 2 bronze stars, but never shared his story as to why he received them. He simply told us, "I was only doing my job."

Upon his return from war, he met my grandmother on a blind date and was instantly smitten with her. At her death last year, they had been married for 62 years.

Throughout my life, Paw Paw B was always there. We spent many Sunday afternoons eating dinner with he and Maw Maw, gathered around the table. His favorite dish was my mother's potato salad. When my grandmother made it, he always made a comment about how it wasn't as good as my mom's.

Growing up, he was always outside working in the garden or fishing. There were many trips to the fishing camp or walks around the pond. I know I put in many hours picking vegetables and strawberries out of the garden with him. The big green 5 gallon bucket would be overflowing with his Celebrity tomatoes in no time. He grew the best I've had.

Every time I see a Dixon lawnmower, I think of him. He taught all of the grandkids to drive it when we were old enough to reach the pedals. There were many good times had by us all riding around the property.

Paw Paw was generous to anyone who needed help. Each birthday and Christmas, unbeknownst to the grandkids, he and Maw Maw put money into an account for each grandchild. When we graduated from high school, he gave us what had accumulated over the years. He bought cars and even invited grands to live with him when they needed a place. Out of 6 grands, I'm the only one who hasn't lived on the Kelly compound.

Since moving away, I didn't see him as often as I should. I'm ridden with guilt from not calling as often as I needed to call. But, I did talk to him one last time and told him I loved him.

My dad called me on Saturday afternoon to tell me it wouldn't be long. I had laid down for a nap since I was going to have to stay up late to do lesson plans. When I hung the phone up and walked in the living room, The Lawerence Welk show was on. It was only fitting that at that moment that would play since Paw Paw watched it every time it was on. I sat down and cried a hard cry while it played.

When we arrived in Louisiana, I walked in Paw Paw's house and life was different. The house was quiet. No one was sitting on the porch swing. Life was not the same.

I'm living in a house that was purchased in 1960 and had one owner. When we moved in, it was full of a life that was lived.

Since we've moved into it, we have spent hours sorting through vacation souvenirs, family photos, handmade clothes, kitchen supplies, closets full of linens and the likes.

Through this "cleaning" we have noticed how the person who lived here tried her best to keep her home in the best shape possible, even when she wasn't able. Tonight as we cleaned the master bedroom in preparation to rip the carpet up and paint the walls, we discovered mini-blinds that were taped together with kleenex to block the light out and chipped paint held in place from the places it was falling by scotch tape. While it is a nuisance to remove from the walls, the scotch tape struck a chord with me and immediately saddened me upon its sight.

Here was a precious woman holding together something she found precious with scotch tape. It immediately led me to think …

The paintings of Monet have always inspired me - the strokes that appear random upon close inspection of a canvas takes on a different appearance the further away you position yourself from the piece. Slowly images begin to appear and make sense to the observer. The strokes that appeared sloppily orchestrated up close or even appeared as possible mistakes, now create the delicate petals of water lilies on the surface of a pond. Instead of images becoming clearer the closer you step, focus appears as you take in the entire masterpiece.

I've been contemplating the large masterpiece of my life recently. For so long I've been focused on the individual brushstrokes that don't make sense. I can't piece them together. The blues, pinks, and purples that are smeared across the canvas - the heartache, the challenges, the questions, the difficulties - I can't see the entire canvas, yet. But, I know who does. The one who knows the very number of the hairs on my head.